


Of Players and Pieces

by scarletrebel



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Other, the authors constant and blatant disregard for in game hive science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletrebel/pseuds/scarletrebel
Summary: “And here is our bargain. Keep Dredgen free of harm, allow him the sway over the Dark we have granted. And when the Taken King and his Deathsinger turn their eyes from survival, players and pieces may meet in the middle.”





	Of Players and Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> so!!! this here is a birthday gift for my buddy pin! a couple of years ago i wondered 'what would happen if their warlock grier said yes to becoming taken king?' and this exists in that universe we lovingly call dark future au 
> 
> its pins favourite, which is why i wanted to write it, and explore a little more what taken king grier and deathsinger avia are actually going to do with themselves now that savathun is on her way
> 
> i hope you all enjoy!

The Dreadnaught hangs on a precipice; dormant, save for the Hive who burrow into the ships exoskeleton, seeking satisfaction for their hunger, looking desperately for those who tithe the Darkness to them. They squabble, fight, and die. They have nothing else.

The Taken King is alone. He stares at the broken pieces of his predecessors’ weapon, hidden partly by the acrid pool that lies as to its depth.

“A tool, to carve your way through realms as He did,” Toland had told him. Grier can still feel his former mentors’ chill and sharp touch on his shoulder. Even more so the wicked smile as he added; “And to strike down those who seek your end.”

He needed to forge his own, Toland was adamant. But the change was – painful. Not just Awoken to Hive. Light to Dark. A simple soul to formidable monarch. It pulled at every inch of his being, every membrane and particle so thoroughly and methodically. Hungrily. The physical scars, torn open skin from new limbs left him lethargic, tired, confused and afraid. Toland called him weak, he supposes now because the ghostly spectre was all Grier had.

He _will_ be stronger, without him. His wings shake behind him as he raises a hand, conjures the pieces of Oryx’s sword back together. Along the edges of the broken weapon dances Eris’s influence, and Grier wonders feebly what she must think of him now.

The jagged pieces rise slowly, begin to slot themselves back together against the expansive background of the solar system.

And then, they stop.

Because Grier hears crying. Pained, awful sobbing. What’s left of his manipulated heart lurches, hopeful and more desperate than ever.

He leaves the pieces suspended, makes his way further into the Dreadnaught. Thrall cower as he passes, Wizards and Knights bowing their heads but he barely notices, finds he doesn’t care for the cadence of his hurry and who or what might see it.

When he gets to her, she’s on her side, curled up, facing away from him. The room (her _prison_ , she’d spat at him once) is bathed in a soft green glow. There’s all manner of indication in the spell and the weaving of it, that she made her way back there herself, from whatever pocket of the ascendant realm was changing her. He doesn’t allow himself to consider it.

Her sobs are quiet, her once pristine armour moulded and changed to sickly hues of matted grey. He walks over, quietly, all manner of words caught in his throat.

She sniffs, stops deathly still on a breath. He does too, his three eyes blinking as they watch.

She gets one arm underneath her, pushes up as if not used to using her limbs. As she draws her head up he spots the tips of her horns now, the sharp edges of them curving over the back of her head.

He finds his feet, moves and kneels in front of her in a matter of seconds. She doesn’t look up at him.

The once lavender tint of her Awoken skin has disappeared, dull and lifeless. He rests a hand on the side of her face, a thumb gently brushing against her forehead. His clawed fingertip pushes near the open skin and she inhales, sharp. It hasn’t been too long then, he surmises. They must still be sore.

“I know it hurts now,” his voice is barely a whisper, still it echoes around the chamber. The runes etched into the walls pulse eagerly at the sound. “But the worst is nearly over. I promise.”

Avia murmurs, her head still pointed to the ground. He sits back on his heels, wishes her head would raise to look at him and then it does. Ichor tracks down her cheeks, viscous. Blackened eyes, red around the edges, blink up at him.

“I want,” she rasps, voice used and not used all at once. “I want to show you something.”

He can’t remember a time their conversation held any kind of softness. She seems eager, hinging on an answer from him, and all he can do is nod.

She shuffles onto her knees, moaning and wincing at the movement. Eventually she looks up at Grier, looks down to her hands.

He feels it, first. How his Throne World bends just so to her whim. Some cracked edge, decayed since Oryx’s fall weaves back together as though Avia has stitched it with her own hand. Her face twisted in concentration is suddenly illuminated in neon green, and Grier looks up to watch the runes he so hurriedly carved to keep her with him wax and wane with her display. Looking down between her hands, Darkness curls against her fingers lovingly, closely. The movement an anchor, she starts to frown, and Grier feels the exhaustion in the motion.

Avia’s brow furrows, unable to keep a hold on the magic in her palm and she yells in defiance as the spell fades. Grier feels the power in it, even as her hands still, how the logic of the space cowers under her anger.

She’s so close.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling her into his neck. “Avia, oh dear sister.”

She sobs again, whether from pain or relief Grier can’t tell. He pulls her back, holds her face between his hands. Her own shakily grab onto his wrists. “If I could just – I can – I can k-keep us safe. If I could just be – if there was more, if I knew what it wa-as I c-could—”

He hushes her, wipes her face. “It is within my power, to make you stronger. Is that what you want?”

She nods furiously. “We don’t have anything else.”

“We have all we need,” he conjures his own tithe of Darkness, and it hums a song of absolutes in his hand. “Each other.”

There’s no resistance as he pushes it into her chest. He notices that her hands haven’t left his wrists and if he weren’t so relieved that his isolation is coming closer to its end, he’d remark that she’s encouraging his help even more so.

He remembers the pain, in vivid detail. Remembers Toland’s wicked laugh, looking on as though indifferent to it all. Avia squirms, her grip turned vice-like, teeth clenched. He holds her close, caring, as they once did. He mutters Hive arcana in her ear, keeps his hand on her chest.

Avia surrenders, the last ebb and flow of her Light scorched away, and in the ashes of Grier’s open palm emerges in a new shape.

* * *

_Three Years Later_

There is no herald for the others presence. It breaks her concentration, turning a frown to her mouth as she halts the tending of their throne world and concentrates on the being bold enough to enter such a place.

It’s not a Guardian. The Light is too offensive to go unnoticed. Especially in this place; her hands are calloused and sharp in their weaving and unmaking of this realm steeped in logic of death and decay. She detects a flicker, maybe. A spark, snuffed out by determined hands. This is a feeling she knows well.

She turns from her view of Saturn, suspended over the Threshold within the Dreadnaught. A woman clothed in pristine robes hovers before her, face an impassive blue, lingering eyes meeting her own.

Avia says nothing. She flies forwards, inspecting her guest with a roaming eyes. She does a circle of the figure. Once they’re face to face again, a voice echoes around them.

“The Nine have a request.”

“This is no place for such a thing,” Avia spits. “If you’ve come to bargain, speak plainly.”

The Emissary’s gaze is solid, unmoving. Her voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. “The Nine do not wish to offend.”

“Then don’t. Speak.”

“There is a man,” the Emissary starts. “A lightbearer. He who wields the power of the Dark.”

“He does not _wield_ it,” as her clawed hands curl into her palms, the fabric of the space curls around them. “He is a coward, a liar and a fool, playing with things he does not understand and never will.”

“You wish to know the source of his power. We will reveal this to you.”

And how simply that would quell the anger within her, she thinks. Avia guards herself, wary that the Nine should know her wishes so easily. “On what condition?”

A pause. “We wish him unhurt.”

Avia’s laugh is drawn out and cruel. She narrows blackened eyes, her voice a warning and a threat all at once. “The Taken Kings judgement will not be forestalled.”

The Emissary floats closer, her body suspended in its singular pose. “Dredgen is a piece of ours on a chessboard. We ask only that his power or his gift is not punished by the Taken King.”

“And would you beg us to grant the same mercy to those who gave him it?”

Another pause, drawn out. Avia begins to wonder, snarl on her features as she closes the gap waywardly. The Emissary speaks, confirms her suspicions. “We watched him closely. Watched him transcend his design.”

“ _How?_ ” Avia seethes. “How did the Nine gift him such a thing?”

“His trial proved to us that he was worthy.”

“ _Worthy,_ ” the word cuts through the air, sharp, but the Emissary only blinks. “What right have you, have any of them, to decide that?”

“Perhaps more right than you. And you know this.”

“Have care how you speak,” Avia warns. On the pillar closest to her, the decaying rock begins to split and break apart. “If you truly wish not to offend.”

“You and the King are more than what you were, more powerful than even you understand. Fear keeps Dredgen from his true potential. You are not so dissimilar.”

“ _Enough!_ ” Avia screams, the syllables and tone of the word rippling around them. Her voice carries a screech under the surface, just as the Emissary carries multiple voices in her one. “We transcended our design by _dying_. We gave up everything to become monsters. He is nothing but a spec in comparison. Your bargain is incomplete; tell me why we should show him mercy before I tear you from this realm forever.” 

“The Dredgen is more use to you alive,” The Emissary goes on, completely unfazed and it does nothing to dissuade Avias threat. “The King and his Deathsinger are without purpose. When the time comes for you to show your hand, the Nine will not ask you to reveal your plans. The Dredgen plays a significant role in theirs.”  

Bitterness flares in Avia’s gut. She supposes it’s obvious to see, how the Hive and the Taken across the system lay in wait.

“Our only goal is survival.” The words feel wrong on Avia’s cracked lips, too easy to say. She ignores the unrest in them, how her tithe defies them.

“They know what _you_ seek. The shattered image of a Queen’s throne.”

Avia regards the Emissary closely, takes a measured breath. Her voice is laced in secrecy as she asks. “What do they know of Mara?”

“You have torn at the canvas she hides behind, undone foundations so sturdily built.” At the echoed words, Avia’s mouth splits into a smile. “She has felt it. She is afraid of it.”

“And how, then, can your Dredgen possible align with what _I_ want?”

“Perhaps he can’t. But we can.”

Avia inhales, closes her eyes. “Of course.”

“And here is our bargain. Keep Dredgen free of harm, allow him the sway over the Dark we have granted. And when the Taken King and his Deathsinger turn their eyes from survival, players and pieces may meet in the middle.”

Has it been so long, Avia thinks to herself, that she can’t see the bigger picture? She tries to push her gaze to understand why the Emissary would come here, why broker a deal if the Nine have a connection to Mara – the very thought ignites something inside of her. “Is that a promise of aid?” She asks after a while.

“Has a deal been met?”

Avia turns away. “Once I’ve convened with the Taken King, you’ll have your answer. Now leave.”

The Emissary lingers. Avia stops, tilts her head as _something_ kicks up. A spark of Light, flaring but desperately trying to stay quiet. She tastes hope on her tongue. She turns sharply. “ _Leave!_ ”

The shriek bursts forth. Her eyes settle on the space where the Emissary was, and Avia’s claws twitch to rip into something, to claw and kill and smother—

“I hope you’re playing nicely.”

Grier’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. She looks down to see him stood below her, some feet away, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

“She—” Avia stutters out. She stops herself, grips her head and lets out a scream. She feels the effect of it throughout the Dreadnaught. Wizards join in her song of frustration, Acolytes rise to it and Thrall feed from it. Even Grier feels it, the tie between them pleased by the display.

When she looks back down, Grier only smiles and extends a hand. She floats down to him, moth to a flame, and takes the hand in both her own.

“Forgive me. She came to bargain.”

Grier hums. “What for?”

“The Dredgen,” Avia says. “The Nine want us to leave him.”

“Leave him?” Grier asks with an amused curl to his lips. “I wasn’t aware he was ours.”

“The power of the Dark was their gift to him.”

Grier’s expression turns, frozen over. Avia goes on; “She said they’d observed him, deemed him worthy. She bargained for his life, afraid you’d punish him.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“You saw what I told them.”

Grier frowns, his grip on her hand tightening. “Avia.”

“I wasn’t going to entertain shadows,” she seethes. “Besides. You don’t intend him harm. I just left that part out.”

“So certain,” Grier smiles, to which Avia lifts an eyebrow. He seems to cast the accusation in the glare aside. “The Emissary. Tell me about her.”

“A mouthpiece,” Avia spits. Grier drops her hands slowly as she talks. “Though. There’s something else there. As though the Nine have tried to take her wholly, missed some pieces out.”

“Her will?”

“Perhaps. She _was_ a Guardian, I could sense that much.”

“And the Dredgen. They seem protective over him.”

“What part does he play?” Avia sneers. “How can one lightbearer be so important to them?”

“The Nine don’t exist in absolutes, not as we do. His potential remains to be seen.”

“ _If_ you allow him to continue.” Avia states.

Grier narrows his eyes at her. Then a smile spits across his face. “Sister. Why do you so wish to tear him apart?”

“He plays wretched games with _your_ power. He shows the Guardians how to use the Darkness in their favour. _Everything_ we’ve been through his Gambit works to trivialise. And he will not be on ours or the side of the Light when asked, he will crawl into his hole and wait out the apocalypse.”

Grier’s head tilts, his wings occupying the space more and his features speak clearly to his displeasure. “Your anger is the source of your power, Avia, and you’re wasting it. On a being so beneath you.”

“Just as you waste your time entertaining him! A child, wielding your power, making a mockery of you.” Her voice vibrates around them, and Grier notices it before she does, how the cadence and strength of her words and voice slip.

Grier takes a breath of finality, eyes narrowing. “You seem tired.”

“What? No, no, I’m…” She can’t escape him, so she stands her ground and allows the Taken King to look her over in scrutiny.

“‘Torn at the canvas she hides behind.’ The mouthpiece certainly has a way with words, doesn’t she?”

Avia stills, shrinking, wide eyes breaking his gaze.

“The Dredgen I can allow, despite his cooperation I understand your upset. But it would seem I’ve allowed your obsession with Eleusinia to go on for too long.”

“Grier—”

“There’s nothing you can hide from me,” and a clawed hand slips over her neck, grabs the side of her face and she deigns to fight back, instead looking him in the eye with a violent turn to her mouth. “I’ve felt your control slip from the second the Guardians started to play in that broken realm. You seek to destroy it.”

“I _want—_ ” and Avia chokes on it, trying desperately to hold back what feels like a centuries old wound ready to bleed again. “I want it gone. I want her dead.”

Grier sighs sympathetically, holds her face in between both hands. “The power to overthrow Mara’s Throne World is not yours. It’s mine. I won’t allow you to waste _my gift_ on her. I forbid it, do you understand?”

A beat passes, feeling like an infinity in the broken throne world they call home, that Avia is so close to completing after years of stubborn work. Eventually, solemnly, she nods.

“Say it.”

“I understand.” She grits.

Grier frowns, pulls her head down to place a kiss on her forehead. “I promise you, that day will come,” he mutters against her withered skin. “You have to trust me.”

“I do,” Avia whispers. “We’re nearly safe.”

“I know. I’m so proud of you, Avia.”

“There’s too many of them,” Avia whispers. “Even when I finish, they’ll still be there. Waiting. Queens, Emissaries, Dredgens, _Guardians_. They think us children. They don’t know what we’re capable of.”

“They will.”

“But _when_ ,” she asks quietly, a sad turn to her mouth, and Grier frowns. “We’ve been silent for so long.”

Grier’s eyes blink. He moves his hands from her face slowly, looks away.

Avia feels worry form in her gut, mouth poised to disregard her comment and then he looks at her, fierce with determination.

As he speaks, he takes her hand in his and walks them to the edge of the Threshold. “The Dredgen, summoning our forces with a flick of his wrist. Mara Sov, her ascension and position at the cost of her own people. Savathûn, out there on the edge of the system, waiting for her opportunity. Once we are strong, sister, what would have me do?”

They settle, side by side, and Avia’s answer comes easy. “The Dreaming City. The Taken there have no focus, no control. Amass them, give them purpose. Remind Mara and the Guardians that you are a threat.”

“How?”

She hesitates. “I won’t go against your wishes, brother, I promise. But – The Blind Well. It’s how they allow the Guardians into Eleusinia. Cut off any chance of making it in, keep Mara in the Dark, alone. Deny Savathûn the ultimatum to Rivens curse. Overwhelm the City, control it, destroy it if you must—”

“You want me to _take_ _it_.”

She stills, grips his hand tighter. “You could. You could rip it from Mara’s hands, destroy the last of the Awokens forces, murder Guardians in your wake. The curse grips it tightly, it would be so easy. You’d be taking what’s already yours by rights.”

She looks to read his expression. The turn of his mouth, amused, spreads a similar one across her face. “We show benevolence with the Dredgen, prompt the Nine to show their gratitude. If there’s knowledge to be gained in regards to the city, the bargain is fulfilled.”

Avia bristles. “I don’t trust them.”

“Neither do I. But bargains, promises, are powerful things Avia. The Nine will keep their word. Just as I will keep this one to you.”

She tilts her head, watching as Grier summons his sword in his other hand, still gripping hers tightly. He lifts it, point down, allowing Taken energy to collect around it.

In response, the Dreadnaught sings. Thrall rise from their pools, Knights brandish their weapons and Wizards scream to Avia’s power, to their Kings command. She feels it everywhere – broken parts of a map on Earth, entangled with the Vex on Io, echoed in the festering nests on Titan. He slams the sword down, and the call is sent across the system.

“Complete the throne world. Fortify it, make those who would enter it to challenge us know the sorrow they will find. Allow me time to gather our forces, to make deals with Dredgens and Emissaries. And The Dreaming City will be yours.”

“Grier,” Avia breathes.

“My gratitude cannot be measured with a single city. All I ask is that when Mara crawls out of her hole, you allow me to grant you the revenge you seek.”

There’s no way for relief to fill Avia’s chest – there is simply no space for it, her being so flooded by hatred and anger. Still, it ricochets around them, singing with the edges of the Kings blade.

She shakes, gripping Grier’s hand to point of breaking and hoping he can feel her answer. She closes her eyes and listens, listens closely to the Hive across the galaxy gather in their name.


End file.
